


The Dark Lady

by Shinyunderwater



Series: Better With Three [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode AU: s03e02 The Shakespeare Code, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-16 04:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinyunderwater/pseuds/Shinyunderwater
Summary: This work is based on a post by yesokayiknow on Tumblr about Martha and Donna being simultaneous companions. This scene takes place in an alternative version of The Shakespeare Code. Donna is a great wingwoman and Ten is jealous and annoyed.





	1. As You Like It

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to link the post that inspired this story but keep failing. If anyone knows how to do that I would really appreciate that info.

_In the old age black was not counted fair,_   
_Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;_   
_But now is black beauty's successive heir,_   
_And beauty slandered with a bastard shame:_   
_For since each hand hath put on Nature's power,_   
_Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face,_   
_Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,_   
_But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace._   
_Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,_   
_Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem_   
_At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,_   
_Sland'ring creation with a false esteem:_   
_Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe,_ _  
That every tongue says beauty should look so._

 

Donna couldn't help but grin as she saw the wonder on Martha's face. After traveling with the Doctor for a few… weeks? months? it was hard to tell in the TARDIS, she loved it as much as ever, but the newness of it all had somewhat eroded. Through Martha's eyes Donna found herself reexperiencing the amazement she'd felt the first time she'd stepped off the Doctor's TARDIS to find herself in a different time. Martha must have felt her gaze, or maybe just decided to look over at her, and Donna found herself peering into those beautiful dark eyes. “This is incredible,” Martha gushed. “We just saw Shakespeare! He was right in front of us!”

 

“We could do more than that,” the Doctor told her. “If you like. You see that inn?”

 

The Doctor pointed at a nondescript wooden building that advertised itself with peeling paint as The Elephant. “Yeah,” Martha said.

 

The Doctor grinned. “Come on then.”

 

Donna and Martha followed the Doctor into the inn. The Doctor led them down a hall littered with shadows and then opened a door to reveal a dim study, and inside was a man they recognized from the theatre, William Shakespeare himself. “Wow,” Donna found herself saying. “Will you get a look at that!”

 

Shakespeare looked up, his features formed into an expression of annoyance. “What is this then? I asked not to be disturbed.”

 

The Doctor stepped forward. “We're so sorry to bother you. We just saw your play, quite wonderful stuff. Let me introduce myself.”

 

Shakespeare put down his quill pen. “Let me guess,” he said in an exasperated tone. “You are my most devoted admirer. You've seen all of my shows and you just had to meet me.”

 

“No, well yes, but you see-”

 

“Why don't you let women perform in your plays,” Donna asked. If they were about to get ousted anyway there was no reason not to be controversial. “I think the play would have been better with a few more ladies on stage.”

 

“Is that right,” Shakespeare asked, looking somewhat amused. His gaze shifted from Donna to Martha and he did a sort of double take, subtle enough that a less keen eye might have missed it, but Donna didn't miss much and she saw his demeanor shift. “And who is this then? Come closer lady, that I might look upon your figure in the candlelight.”

 

Martha gestured to herself. “Me?” She didn't seem to believe she was being addressed.

 

“Yes you.” Donna pushed her forward.

 

Martha stumbled a bit, but came to a stop in front of Shakespeare's desk. “Uh… hi.”

 

“Hello,” Shakespeare said. “How might I address this sweet Ethiopian lady?”

 

“Oh, I'm not Ethiopian,” Martha said. “I'm a Londoner. English, same as you.”

 

“My apologies,” Shakespeare said as if the matter were trivial. “And does this Londoner have a name? Perhaps Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty? Or Artemis, goddess of the hunt, for you have surely captured my heart.”

 

Martha chuckled. “It seems to me your heart is easy pray, if it takes so little to catch it.”

 

“On the contrary lovely one, it takes a rare and splendid countenance to tempt me.”

 

Martha grinned. She looked away for a moment to hide her blush. “My name's Martha, Martha Jones,” she said.

 

“Martha,” Shakespeare said, rolling the name around in his mouth, tasting it. “Delicious.”

 

The Doctor cleared his throat, looking annoyed. Donna was giddy to see him not be the center of attention for once. This humbling experience might be just what he needed. “Right, well we just wanted to-”

 

“Please,” Shakespeare said, addressing Martha and ignoring the Doctor. “Sit down.”

 

Martha took a seat. “Thank you.”

 

“Did you see my play?”

 

“I did,” Martha said.

 

“What did you think?”

 

“I loved it. It was very funny. But I did wonder why the king and his companions ever chose to be friends. They didn't even seem to like each other all that much.”

 

The Doctor started to interject. “Well-”

 

Shakespeare raised a hand to silence the Doctor. “An excellent point my lady, but you may find that the friendships of men are not so good and pure as the ones that women share. We can never have the selfless love for one another that your sex is able to achieve as we always view each other as competition.”

 

“Competition,” Martha asked. “What for?”

 

Shakespeare gave Martha a look that made her blush again, and Donna had to hold back a howl of laughter. At last Shakespeare showed the Doctor some attention. “Good sir might you ask Dolly to bring some libations in for me and my companion? I'd be most obliged.”

 

“I-” The Doctor's squeak of indignation filled Donna with mirth, and she cut him off.

 

“Would be honored,” Donna said. “We'll be right back. Come on Doctor.” She started to pull him out of the room against his protests.

 

Shakespeare had already turned his attention back to Martha, and the two were engaged in a spirited debate on the natural differences between men, women and all alternatives to the two. Martha pulled her chair closer to Shakespeare's desk, and he leaned forward to stare into her eyes. As Donna led the Doctor away she saw Shakespeare reach forward and brush a strand of hair behind Martha's ear.

 

Once they were out of earshot Donna started sniggering. “That was incredible!”

 

“I don't see what's so incredible about one of the greatest minds in all of human history being an unabashed flirt.” The Doctor sounded very put out indeed. “He didn't even see us, he was so busy fawning.” Donna would have sworn he was pouting.

 

Donna cackled in delight. “You're jealous!”

 

“I am not!”

 

“You are so jealous.” Donna was all but preening at that point. “This is wonderful.”

 

“I am not jealous, what would I have to be jealous about?” The Doctor started to storm off towards the bar. “Why should I care if he wants to talk to her? I wouldn't. I don't.”

 

“You've got a big ol brain boner for-”

 

“A what?!” The Doctor looked outraged.

 

“You heard me. You've got an academic hard-on for the Bard, and you're all shirty because he likes Martha more than you.”

 

“That's not true!”

 

“Oh it so is! This is the best day ever!”

 

“I don't know why you're so happy. He wasn't paying any attention to you either.”

 

“What do I care? Shakespeare's not anything to me, some posh poet, whoop de doo. But you, you can't stand it. Your personal hero, and he won't give you the time of day! You've needed to be taken down a peg for a good long while, and this was just the thing!”

 

The Doctor scowled. “Do you need to be enjoying yourself quite so much?”

 

“Absolutely. C'mon, let's get the lovebirds their drinks. I'm so glad we picked her up.”

 

“Well this is the last time. After this, no more passengers. Overcomplicates things.”

 

Donna responded in a melodic voice. “You are jealous. J E L O U S jealous,” she sang.

 

“That's not how you spell jealous.”

 

“And I don't care. Anyway you would know how to spell it because that's what you are!”

 

“Right! Okay! Are we quite done?”

 

“Nope,” Donna said before turning to the bartender and ordering four pints on Shakespeare's tab. “I've only just begun.”

 

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but she caught him holding back a smirk out of the corner of her eye as she collected the drinks. Donna headed back down the hall to Shakespeare's study and entered without knocking to find he and Martha swimming in each other's eyes, speaking in the low tones of lovers. “Drinks!”

 

Martha jumped. “Oh! Thank you.”

 

“Yes, great thanks lady…”

 

“Lady Donna of the Noble family.”

 

“Which noble family,” Shakespeare asked, mistaking her surname for an adjective.

 

“The Noble family,” Donna repeated. “Have you injured my friend's honor,” she asked.

 

“Her virtue is quite intact, though not for lack of effort on my part,” Shakespeare replied.

 

“Isn't that a shame,” Donna teased. Martha gave Donna a scandalized look, but Donna just grinned in response. “You'll have to try a bit harder then, won't you,” Donna asked.

 

Donna watched Martha picked up a pint and start drinking, cheeks crimson. Martha was saved from having to come up with a reply when a belligerent fellow stormed into the room, face far redder than Martha's, and not just because he was of a paler natural complexion. The man looked like he'd washed his face with tomato juice, and his rage was palpable. “Mister Shakespeare!”

 

“Ah, my… friend. Please, join me and my new companions for a drink. We were just celebrating tonight's success.”

 

“It will be the last success you ever celebrate if I have anything to say! How dare you announce a new play without my approval?!”

 

“Did I not get it? I confess I have been most forgetful of late. Please sir, the hour is late and I have been merry. I will come see you in the morning to discuss the matter.”

 

“There is nothing to discuss because the play is cancelled! This will at last teach you to respect me and the office I hold!”

 

Donna watched the man stomp out of the room and then turned to see Shakespeare's reaction. He leaned back in his seat with a carefree smile. “Pardons for the disruption.”

 

“What will you do about the play,” Martha asked. “He seemed serious about not letting you perform. Can he do that?”

 

Shakespeare leaned forward again and cupped Martha's cheek. “Do not trouble yourself. It is kind of you to worry for me, but not at all necessary. Things like this tend to sort themselves out,” Shakespeare assured her.

 

“Really,” the Doctor asked. “How's that?”

 

Shakespeare either didn't hear the Doctor or pretended not to. “Now Lady Martha, how would you care to further our discussion on Woman's role in our evolving society over a drink… in my rooms,” Shakespeare asked.

 

Martha gave him an appraising smile. “Don't you have a wife in the country,” she asked.

 

“I do indeed,” he answered without hesitation or shame. “But we're in town, aren't we?”

 

Martha laughed. “You think quite a lot of yourself, don't you sir?” Donna could tell by Martha's smile that she wanted to accept the invitation. She'd worn that same smile herself many times, but never for someone famous who compared her to goddesses.

 

“I am a man of many accomplishments.”

 

Donna was an old hand at helping friends get both into and out of trouble, and had spent many years honing her skills in detecting which service was required. Donna was certain Martha didn't want out of the situation she was in so much as an excuse to stay and be praised by a handsome man with a silver tongue. “Martha, the Doctor and I have to go take care of that errand. We'll see you…”

 

Martha understood what Donna was asking without asking. Other women almost always understood the hidden language. “Oh yes, I'll see you in a few hours,” Martha said.

 

“Or in the morning,” Shakespeare suggested.

 

“In a few hours,” Martha repeated.

 

“Right,” Donna said. “See you then.” Donna led the Doctor away before he could say anything and spoil Martha's evening, although Donna wasn't sure what he could do to taint the infatuation the Bard was in the throes of.

 

“What errand,” the Doctor snapped as they made their way outside.

 

“You'll find something for us to do, you always do,” Donna said. “The whole point of this trip was do something nice for Martha and thank her for saving your life. Well now something nice is happening to her, so let's not ruin it, shall we,” Donna instructed.

 

The Doctor looked over his shoulder at the inn with a baffled expression. “So you want us to just wander around while…” He trailed off, for once not having the words to convey what he wanted to say. “For a few hours?”

 

Donna patted his shoulder. “Sorry, but yes.”

 

The Doctor rolled his eyes, and then came to a sudden stop. “Donna, take a look.” Donna followed the Doctor's gaze to a man Donna assumed was intoxicated by his struggles to remain standing. A moment later he collapsed to the ground. The Doctor raced over to the man, but Donna ran back to the inn. “Where are you going,” the Doctor shouted.

 

“To get Martha! She's a medical student, she might be able to help him!” Donna didn't get to hear the Doctor's response as she was already inside the inn. She supposed she should have warned Martha that traveling with the Doctor tended to balance every bit of fun with an equal measure of trouble.


	2. Midsummer Night's Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martha does CPR, makes some good deductions, and has a well-needed snog.

_How oft when thou, my music, music play'st,_  
_Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds_  
_With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st_  
_The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,_  
_Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap,_  
_To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,_  
_Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,_  
_At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!_  
_To be so tickled, they would change their state_  
_And situation with those dancing chips,_  
_O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,_  
_Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips._  
_Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,_ _  
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss._

 

Martha didn't even feel the ache in her muscles or the burning in her lungs as she continued the compressions. CPR was exhausting, and after her first class on the subject her arms had burned for hours, but when it was a real person in front of her who was in actual peril all such considerations melted away. She focused on maintaining the proper rhythm and ratio of the compressions and breathes. Nothing else mattered.

 

“Martha stop; he's gone.” Martha heard the Doctor's voice, but it sounded as if he were speaking to her from far away. She paid him no heed. “Martha you need to stop now.”

 

Martha felt a pair of gentle hands cover her own and pull them away. She turned to yell at the interferer, but it was Donna, looking at her with compassionate eyes. Martha let Donna help her to her feet. “I did my best,” she said.

 

“Not your fault,” Donna said with firm conviction. “He was already dead.”

 

The Doctor was holding up a wallet of some sort to the crowd. “Public Health Officer, the situation is under control. Please go about your business,” he ordered the bystanders.

 

The crowd dispersed, but most of them shot Martha a hostile or puzzled glance before they left. Martha felt a chill run down her spine and she shivered. “My lady you are cold,” Shakespeare said. In all the commotion Martha had almost forgotten that he followed her to the street when Donna fetched her.

 

“I'm alright,” Martha said. “This poor man…”

 

“What were you doing to him,” Shakespeare asked. “Why would you kiss a corpse?” He sounded more curious than accusatory, and even a bit amused, but Martha was still unnerved by the inquiry. She remembered that she was in a time when healthcare was often seen as witchcraft, especially when practiced by a woman. She looked to the Doctor.

 

The Doctor had just scanned the body with his Sonic and then hailed a passer-by to remove the body and was only at that moment returning his attention to the rest of them, or rather to Shakespeare. “You knew this man?”

 

“The master of revels. We had occasion to meet from time to time. An ill-tempered sort of man with few friends and no admirers.”

 

Donna scoffed. “So much for not speaking ill of the dead. I'm not hiring you to write my obituary, pretty words notwithstanding.”

 

Shakespeare laughed. “All men will one day die, and yet not all men are saints. It stands to reason then that not all dead men can have led virtuous lives. A knave does not cease to be a knave simply because his breath abandons him. He is only then a dead knave.”

 

“We could at the very least disparage his character somewhere other than standing over his body,” Martha protested.

 

Shakespeare shifted his demeanor, giving her a solemn nod and offering Martha his arm to escort her upstairs. Donna and the Doctor followed Martha and Shakespeare into his rooms, which were still illuminated by romantic candlelight. The ambiance of the rooms was somewhat diminished by the recent events. The couch where she had sat with Shakespeare and shared their philosophy now seemed drab and not at all inviting.

 

“Right then,” the Doctor said. “This man, if he was as bad as you say he must have had enemies. Who were they,” he asked.

 

“You suspect foul play,” Shakespeare asked.

 

“That remains to be seen. But if you've seen anything suspicious, anything at all, then-”

 

“As a matter of fact,” Shakespeare interrupted with an alluring smile on his face. “There was a man, a very suspicious man. He arrived in town not too long ago. I don't know the exact time, but he was a strange man with peculiar manners and odd accomplices,” he said.

 

“What was his name,” Donna asked.

 

“That was the most peculiar thing of all. He gave no name. I saw him in the same room with our unfortunate master of revels this very day. He seemed quite enamored with me from the moment of our acquaintanceship.”

 

Donna nodded. She seemed to be following along with what Shakespeare was implying, but Martha had a suspicion as to where the Bard was going. “Maybe he killed the master of revels to protect your play,” Donna yelled.

 

“Perhaps,” Shakespeare said, his self-satisfied smile impossible to repress. Martha didn't know whether to roll her eyes or kiss his lips.

 

“He didn't tell you anything about himself?”

 

“I'm sorry,” Shakespeare told Donna. “The only title I heard him go by… was Doctor.”

 

Martha snickered while Donna let out a huff of displeasure. “This could be serious,” the Doctor objected. “A man has been murdered.”

 

“Men die everyday,” Shakespeare said with a flippant shrug. He went over to his table and started to pour two goblets of wine. “They die of the pox, of drink, of bad air and of a hundred other things. My plays are full of exciting deaths and murder most foul, but my stories are just that, stories. In real life men die, suddenly, tragically, and mundanely.”

 

“He stopped breathing,” Martha said. “When he was speaking to you earlier he showed no signs of pulmonary distress, no shortness of breath, no fatigue, no sallow complexion.”

 

Shakespeare walked over to Martha and picked up her hand, wrapping it around a goblet. “Tell me Lady Martha, how do you know so much about such things?”

 

“I'm studying to be a doctor. It's my job to know these things.” She set the wine down.

 

“An Afric woman studying to be a doctor?”

 

Martha crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at the man she had been flirting with not long ago. “Do you have something you want to say about that,” she asked.

 

“Only that you grow more intriguing, and desirable, the more I learn about you.”

 

Martha felt a wave of relief that she didn't have to lose all respect for a man she had been starting to like quite a bit. “Sudden onset of symptoms points to an external factor.”

 

“Poison,” the Doctor agreed. “Which brings us back where we started. Who would want to poison this man? Who hated him enough to want him dead?” The Doctor turned to the Bard. “There must have been someone.”

 

Shakespeare shook his head. “He was not a man of enough consequence to inspire any strong emotion, fair or ill. Friends I assure you I have not the answers you seek.”

 

The Doctor sighed. “Then we'll have to go and find someone who does, before there's another victim. Donna, Martha, let's-”

 

“I think Lady Martha should stay with me.”

 

Martha looked at Shakespeare's carefree smile and glittering eyes. “Why is that,” she asked.

 

“Several reasons. Foremost of which being that I fear I might be a target for this mysterious assassin. I need someone to protect me, someone learned and… nimble.”

 

“Nimble,” Martha couldn't hold back the smile creeping over her face.

 

“I suspect your mind is not the only quick-”

 

“Oh for the love of-!” The Doctor's agitated outburst startled Martha, and she turned to look at him. He seemed frustrated, perhaps even angry, but she couldn't figure why he should be. “Stay here,” he snapped at her.

 

“Are you sure? I can-”

 

“Yes I'm sure! We'll see you later.” Without giving Martha time to respond the Doctor left the room at a pace which forced Donna to hurry after him. The room fell into silence.

 

“At last we are alone.” Shakespeare picked up the goblet of wine and passed it to Martha.

 

“He seemed angry,” she said.

 

“Of what consequence is it if he is? Is he your master that you should fear his anger?”

 

Martha bristled at his phrasing. “I'm not a slave,” she snapped at him, putting the wine down once again. “No one is my master.”

 

“I never thought you were a slave my sweet moonlit lady. But if I have caused you any offense I plead for a thousand pardons.”

 

Martha looked around the room for something to keep her gaze occupied. “You're good with words,” she said. “Eloquence can do a find job of concealing a lack of sincerity.”

 

“You think me insincere? I assure you Lady Martha that my affection for you is real.”

 

“You've known me for an hour.”

 

“Then give me another hour. And another and another until the time comes when you will have to take your leave, and return to the strange land where women can be doctors.”

 

Martha returned her eyes to him. “I told you I'm a Londoner. I'm not from a foreign land.”

 

“And I believe you, but there is more to your story, parts you have not told,” he said.

 

“Is that the real reason you wanted me to stay with you? To seduce me for information?”

 

He laughed. “My plans to seduce you began long before my plans to interview you.”

 

“Right,” Martha said. “Of course.”

 

“You doubt me?” He looked surprised.

 

Martha shook her head. Sometimes she was amazed by the male ego. “How many women have you enchanted with all the beautiful things you've said to me? I'm not complaining, but I'm not naive enough to think I'm something special in your eyes.”

 

Shakespeare walked over to her and cupped her cheek again, staring into her eyes with a look of passion that sent a tingling sensation through her body. He placed his other hand on her shoulder. “You are special Lady Martha of London town. When I look into your eyes I see the spark of curiosity. Your smile betrays true delight. There is no falseness to your countenance, neither pretension nor diffidence mar your spirit. I see in you the essence of truth, and I want learn all the truths I can in the time we are allotted.” Martha had been so captivated by his speech that she didn't notice how his hand had travelled up her shoulder and neck until he was holding the back of her head. His face was close to hers, close enough for her to have counted his pores if she'd wanted to. “What say you?”

 

“I say… I say… Oh just kiss me.”

 

“As my lady commands.”

 

The kiss was long and satisfying, the best Martha had enjoyed in a long time. Medical school didn't leave her with much time for dating, and the few classmates she'd been out with had been nice enough, but they weren't in possession of much charm. When the kiss broke apart and left both parties panting for air Martha stared at Shakespeare. “Wow.”

 

He grinned. “Did that please you?”

 

“Yes, I…” She cleared her throat. “It seems there is something to be said for practice. All that kissing you've done onstage must have taught you quite a bit,” Martha teased.

 

Shakespeare laughed as he retrieved the wine goblets. This time Martha kept hold of hers and even took a few sips. “Kissing men is not such good practice for kissing women. It is its own particular brand of delight, where a man can be unrestrained,” Shakespeare said.

 

“So it's true then, you…” Martha tried to think of the contemporary word.

 

“I have had male lovers as well as female lovers,” Shakespeare said without any particular fanfare. “Loving a man is a joy, but a very different joy from loving a woman.”

 

“How so,” Martha asked, hoping the answer wouldn't be too misogynistic.

 

“As I said before, we men always see each other as competition. Making love to another man is like a merry sort of war. We wrestle about, always seeking the upper hand.”

 

“And with a woman?”

 

“Tell me Lady, how do you treat your female lovers?” Martha's eyes widened. She felt as though she had been caught. Her blush from earlier bloomed again, more vibrant than ever.

 

“I…”

 

“Have I embarrassed you?”

 

“No, I just… How did you know?”

 

“Here is the secret Lady Martha that all know but few will confess. Love can live in the flesh, but it is not born there. Love sparks in the mind and grows in the heart. Physician tell me, are the hearts and minds of men and women so different from each other?”

 

Martha shook her head. “No.”

 

“Now, I have a play to finish, and you look well worn from your exertions. Rest upon my bed. I promise not to join you without an enthusiastic invitation,” Shakespeare swore.

 

Martha rubbed her sore arms. “Thank you.”

 

Shakespeare bowed, and then went to his desk to continue writing. It didn't take long for Martha to fall asleep, but when she opened her eyes at one point while shifting position she saw that he was watching her as he wrote.


	3. Taming of the Shrew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor learns some important truths about himself and the mystery at hand. Martha inspires some classic poetry.

_The expense of spirit in a waste of shame_   
_Is lust in action: and till action, lust_   
_Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,_   
_Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;_   
_Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;_   
_Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,_   
_Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,_   
_On purpose laid to make the taker mad._   
_Mad in pursuit and in possession so;_   
_Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;_   
_A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;_   
_Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream._   
_All this the world well knows; yet none knows well_ _  
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell._

 

The Doctor was caught off guard when while walking down the street after another fruitless inquiry Donna slapped him in the shoulder, quite hard. “Ow! What was that for?!”

 

“I swear you have the emotional literacy of a dead beetle,” Donna shouted.

 

“Descriptive,” the Doctor said. “Would you care to elaborate, or are you going to just keep hitting me? If I get a say I choose the former.”

 

“Don't pull that innocent act with me spaceman! You know what you did!”

 

“I really don't.”

 

“Then guess,” she snapped.

 

The Doctor rewound the events of the day in an effort to achieve some sort of clarity. He didn't see anything that to his mind justified physical assault, but he knew better than to tell Donna that. Whatever he'd done had something to do with emotions, so he decided to work off of that. “I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. It won't happen again.”

 

“Not ME you idiot! Martha.”

 

The Doctor frowned. He'd almost forgotten Martha was with them. “What about her?”

 

“For starters how about the way you snapped at her back there? What was that about?”

 

“We were wasting time. Besides, she seemed to want to stay behind and we don't need her.”

 

Donna came to a halt which forced the Doctor to stop walking. “That was unkind.”

 

“What?” He was flabbergasted. “We don't.”

 

“You're going to tell me what's going on with you, and you're going to tell me right now.”

 

“Nothing is going on with me!” The Doctor was starting to get agitated by all the accusations Donna was lobbing at him.

 

“Martha saved your life on the moon! She's been brilliant since we got here-”

 

“Oh yes, her flirting skills are top-notch.”

 

“She tried to save that man's life! She figured out there was something unnatural about his death-” Donna began, gathering momentum.

 

“I already knew that.” The Doctor held up his Sonic. “I have done this before you know.”

 

“Well she hasn't! She's never been in a situation like this before, but she's still managed to be calm and discreet and very clever about everything! So stop being a dick and just be bloody nice to her!”

 

The Doctor held up his hands in surrender and took a step back. “Alright. Why are you so protective of her? You've only just met.”

 

“Why aren't you more protective? You told me she saved your life, resuscitated you, and in doing so prevented all life on Earth from being destroyed. Which means she also saved my life. Which means we both owe her.”

 

“I'm the one who actually saved the world you know. I disabled the machine.” Even as he spoke the Doctor sensed that he had already lost the conversation, ceding the higher ground when he started comparing himself to a young woman in possession of none of the experience or resources he had.

 

Donna must have seen the resignation on his face, because she calmed down. “Just tell me why you're acting like this. What's wrong?”

 

The Doctor cringed. He had no desire to hash this out with Donna, and he in particular didn't want to do it on a busy dirty sixteenth century London street. However the Doctor had learned that his desires tended to have little impact on the situations he found himself in. “It's not her. It isn't, really.”

 

“What's not her? Doctor, talk to me.”

 

“It's just...” The Doctor looked at the moon, the same one he would be transported to in a little over four hundred years, along with an entire hospital's worth of people, including Martha Jones. “She… When we were up there she was incredible. She had no idea what was happening, but she still managed to keep her wits about her and help me get rid of that plasmavore. She brought me back from the dead. And when she realized where we were, what had happened, she didn't panic like all the rest. She marveled.” The Doctor smiled at the memory. “She thought it was beautiful.”

 

“Yeah, she sounds awful,” Donna said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

 

The Doctor looked away from the moon to meet Donna's accusing glare. “She reminded me of… someone. Inviting her to come here was an impulse, but now that she's here everything she does either reminds me of Rose or reminds me that she isn't Rose.”

 

Donna nodded as if she understood. “It seems to me that there's only one thing you can do.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “I suppose so.”

 

“Grow the hell up.”

 

“What?” That hadn't been what he was thinking at all. “What do you mean?”

 

“You think you're the only one who ever went through a bad breakup,” Donna asked.

 

“Rose and I weren't-”

 

“My ex-fiance tried to feed me to a spider!”

 

“I don't really see the para-”

 

“Martha isn't Rose.”

 

“Yes, that's what I'm-”

 

“She never even met Rose!”

 

“No, I know-”

 

“So man up and deal with your grief in a mature adult fashion, instead of taking it out on an innocent woman who has done absolutely nothing to you and is entitled to a bit of respect! Got it spaceman?!”

 

The Doctor nodded. “Yep. Think I do.”

 

“Good.” Donna turned around and headed back towards the inn. “So let's head back and come up with a new plan to figure out this murder mystery, because this isn't working and my feet hurt. While we're doing that you can also apologize for being a prat.”

 

The Doctor opened his mouth to object, but then gave it up as a lost cause and followed Donna. It was almost never worth the trouble of arguing with Donna Noble, in particular when she was right, which he suspected she just might be in this case. So they made their way back to the Elephant. On the way into the building he passed a woman braiding a few strands of black hair that he assumed she meant to give to a lover. He noticed however that she had brown hair, but then he assumed the lighting made the hues seem more disparate than they were and he dismissed the thought. They climbed the steps and knocked on the door to Shakespeare's room.

 

Martha opened the door, a big smile on her face and a warmth in her cheeks. The Doctor felt an irrational surge of irritation, but he checked it before he expressed it. “Did you find anything,” she asked. “Any suspects?”

 

“No,” the Doctor answered as he and Donna entered the rooms. Shakespeare was sitting at his desk composing, paying them little mind.

 

“Hear this my lady,” Shakespeare said as he put down his quill. “My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun. Coral is far more red, than her lips red. If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun. If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. What say you?”

 

Martha gave a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of her neck. “That's lovely,” she said.

 

“Working on Love's Labour's Won,” the Doctor asked. He looked at Martha and the 'black wires’ growing on her head. He knew what Shakespeare would say, but something tickled the back of his mind. Something was wrong, and it alluded the Doctor's grasp.

 

“That's delayed for now. I've postponed it out of respect for our poor master of revels.”

 

“I thought you didn't like him,” Donna said.

 

“Not a bit, but such a pronouncement will be far better received than my saying I would rather compose love sonnets for my new lover than do the work my patrons pay for.”

 

“Smart man,” Donna said with a wink.

 

“As people do keep telling me. Now my lady hear this.” Martha was still rubbing her neck as Shakespeare spoke. “I have seen roses damasked, red and white.” No, she wasn't rubbing her neck, but her throat. “But no such roses see I in her cheeks.” To the Doctor's eyes Martha looked uncomfortable, not embarrassed, in real physical distress. “And in some perfumes is there more delight.” The sense of wrongness increased. “Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.” The Bard put down his paper. “What say you?”

 

Martha opened her mouth to reply, but no sound emerged. She put out a hand as if seeking something on which to catch herself, and Donna wrapped her arms around Martha just in time to keep her from crashing to the floor. Martha held her throat and looked about the room with an expression of abject terror.

 

“Lady Martha! What's happened to you?”

 

“Martha! Martha,” Donna shouted.

 

The Doctor ran out of the room. He could hear Donna and Shakespeare calling after him, but there was no time to address their questions or concerns. The Doctor reached the street and looked down allies and up at windows for a clue as to where the woman he'd seem earlier might have gone. He knew she had to be nearby. Not enough time had passed for her to put much distance between them and herself. She would need privacy to do what she was doing, and if his suspicions as to her motives were correct then she would want to be stationed nearby. The Doctor looked at the building right next to the Elephant, in a state of great disrepair and with no light coming from the windows. He ran inside and up the stairs. He heard voices and followed them to a door. He burst through the door to hear a shriek of outrage and see a woman holding a doll with black human hair attached to its head. He snatched the doll before the woman could react and removed the hair from the doll. “Who are you?”

 

The woman scowled up at him from where she remained seated in front of a table of potion ingredients. “He asks for my name that he might take my power. I offer him in turn only a scarlet flower.” From nowhere she plucked a red rose and held it out to him.

 

“Why do you want to kill Martha?”

 

“I love to hear her speak, yet well I know that music hath a far more pleasing sound. I grant I never saw a goddess go, my mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. Such fine words he will write, but they are not pleasing to our sight. A different prose we do require, that we might plunge the world in fire!”

 

The Doctor's mind did hundreds of calculations a second as be processed the creature's words. “This is all about the play.”

 

“And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare, as any she belied with false compare. A fine ode to a woman of grace, she who hath such a pleasing face. But Shakespeare's pleasure is not our aim. We seek only the flame!”

 

The Doctor nodded. “You need him to finish the play, why? What's so special about it?”

 

The woman smiled, still holding the vibrant crimson flower in her hand. “I offer you all for which you yearn. All I ask is that your eyes close and your back turn.”

 

The Doctor stared at the rose. “You can't bring her back. It isn't possible.”

 

“Facts and figures give you cold comfort, but our power is a warmer hurt. Let us give you the ache you seek. Only let her outcome be but bleak. The wolf is yours if you but concede. Give us the blood we need.”

 

The Doctor thought about Rose, warm and golden and by his side once more. It wasn't even a question. “Never. Even if I were despicable enough to sacrifice an innocent woman for my own selfishness Rose would never forgive me afterwards. Martha Jones is under my protection. You won't touch her.”

 

The woman snarled at him as she got to her feet and backed away. She crushed the flower in her hand and dropped the dry petals on the floor, revealing them to have been dead all the while, concealed by glamour. A gust of wind blew the woman through the window and into the air, where she then winked out of view.


End file.
